Shameless
by ThatClutzsarahh
Summary: It was, of course impractical. But part of her thought, and perhaps hoped it wasn't impossible.


**the majority of this story was written BEFORE bloodline (hence the quick post) so there is SOME reference to bloodline in here. I don't know how you are with reading, but you may or may not need some tissues. This is very sad, i warn you now. But Angst is what i'm best at (which is really strange because i'm the polar opposite in real life) so with that said, i give you the story, originally titled "Out of Line" but changed thanks to bloodline.**

**SPOILERS FOR BLOODLINE and (possibly) 6:02 AM EST. **

**T for heartbreak.**

**I own the typos.**

**

* * *

**

She loves him.

And maybe, no, _probably_, he loves her back. Because even though there is a whole _universe_ between them, he would _always _love her over _her_. There were from the same side, it was genetically _written_ that they were meant to be forever together. Like a delicate blend of two things that shouldn't but _should_ and _do_ go together. Hell, she was carrying _his_ kid. He loved her enough to trust that if they were to ever have an _accident_, he'd be there for her of course. Because he _fucking loves_ her.

And that's what she told herself.

So it didn't hurt _too_ much when Frank left her. Because lying the hospital bed, she _knew_ that if he saw her again, he'd come running, because he cared for her. Mr. Secretary would make sure of it as well. With a slimey wicked grin, the man told her that she would be perfectly all right, that everything would be taken care of. And she _of course_ believed him. He was the Secretary, he could _do_ no wrong. Therefore, it was perfectly _fine_ that Frank had left. Peter would be coming to love her soon, _anyway._

But the time grew long, long enough for her to think about things. With a horrible realization, she remembered that he _hates_ her for what she did to him and _that bitch_ they call Olivia. She remembered that even _after_ she told him she fell in love with him, _he_ called her a liar and told her he would _never_ believe her. So it was with that _painful_ realization that she found herself _completely _alone and _spiraling _out of control.

She had done her job well, much _too_ well in her opinion. Her _job_ was to convince them she was the blonde woman, and that she did, strings attached and heart thrown into everything. Which was ridiculous, because she knew, subconsciously she would be leaving and going _home._ But of course, that came _far_ too late for her, as she had already _fallen_ in love with Peter Bishop, whom didn't fall back in love with _her,_ the real her, anyway.

And that stung more than any needle she'd ever received.

So the long days and ever expanding stomach was a _sick_ reminder of everything she lost in _vain._ Frank was in _vain._ Her tiny frame, _in vain_, and her sanity, _yeah, vanity _ robbed her of that as well. She was a toy to be _used._ The worst part was _she let herself be used_. And for what? The loss of her mind? It was some sick kind of joke that she was stuck in, for _nine months_.

So her sanity, naturally, was going away from her, slowly. And it was in those moments where she found herself yelling at herself in the mirror.

"He loves me, you whore!" she screamed at herself, fingers gripping the edges of the sink, "He loved me _first!"_

But of course, it was all a lie.

And she could live in her world of lies, easily, calmly, because the secretary had built the safe net that hung around her, made of lies and corruption, a net that she could use as a blanket to warm herself at night, to keep the demons from her dreams. But Peter was not a demon, and he would stay in her dreams, which, in turn was the worst nightmare she could ever have.

Sometimes she wished she didn't play that part so well. She also wished that he had never been stolen from this universe so she could have him. But she did played the part so well, and he wont come back for her. He hates her, for everything she did to him, to _them._ And she hates him too, because he _wont_ want her. He'll _never_ want her. And it is her fault all together.

So in her insanity, she'll hate herself.

Because there is nothing left to hate but herself. She was _too_ good to be true. She wasn't even _real_. When she lay in her bed in the dark of the night, fingernails digging into her stomach she would whisper to her stomach, whisper to a child that ruined her.

"I hate you. I hate you more than anything."

It wasn't until she was stolen, kidnapped and injected that she really was scared. She wasn't _just_ scared, she was _cracking_, _breaking_ apart in pieces, just as the baby ripped itself from her. She was a mess in Lincoln's arms, falling apart in fear as she inhaled and exhaled and pushed, pushed out the demon child itself before collapsing in his arms, thinking that just for a moment, just for a _second_ that Lincoln was Peter, _returned_ to her and loving _her_. But when she opened her eyes again, it wasn't true. Lincoln was there and Peter was not.

Foolishly she figured that once the child was here, so would he be here, waiting by her side to see their son, the life only _she and him_ had given forth. He would somehow know that _she _was willing to sacrifice her life to him and he would come for her. Because he would love her. And she was back to believing that somehow, _somehow_ he had figured out long before he announced it, that she wasn't her and he was falling in love with her for real.

Just like she had fallen for him.

She _has_ fallen for him, really, because she still thinks that he's coming home, coming back for her. With little tiny nameless son in arms, she waits by the door for him. Every day. Every night. And it's not doing _anything_ for her sanity. But she already knew that. Her sanity was long gone, erased back into nothingness by a desperate plea to assume that he is _coming back, coming home, returning_ to them and to her. Olivia will believe it, as long as they beautiful boy in her arms stares at her with eyes that aren't her own, eyes that belong to the man _she_ fell in love with, _trapped_ in another universe.

He's waiting for her to rescue him. To take him home.

She's too selfish to think about the life she's ruined over there. She's too focused on loving him to see that he will never love her. And even as the secretary gives her hopeful looks as she suits up to return over there, rescue _him_, she's too focused to even think about the damage that remains from her mission. She won't notice the knife her double will carry around, she won't noticed the pain in her eyes or the sag of her tired body or they way she will simply turn around and say leave to him. And she will not noticed the tears that streak his face, his _beautiful_ face as she walks away, shaking, trembling_, tired and sobbing_. All she will focus on is the way she imagines his face as he sees his son for the first time, and how he will look at her as if she were the most _perfect_ creature on earth. And he will forget about the life he had. She will tell him.

"You have to come back, because you belong with me."

He will return to a son he always wanted. He will return to the woman he will always hate.

He couldn't save the woman he really wanted anyway. He'd broken her too many times to get the right to do that.

And at 6:02 AM EST, a broken, beaten, bitter, kidnapped, cynical Peter Bishop will return to his rightful universe.

It will be the universe he will destroy.

* * *

eh fin. what do you think? honest feedback please :)


End file.
